


Two Christmases

by WhiteRabbit19



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Flashbacks, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:32:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2796437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteRabbit19/pseuds/WhiteRabbit19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1938, Steve and Bucky celebrate their first Christmas living together.<br/>In 2014, Steve and Bucky celebrate their first Christmas since Bucky's return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Christmases

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! I've been having a lot of Steve/Bucky feels lately so I decided to write a little something to try and channel them somewhere. And seeing as how it's that time of the year, I thought it would be fun to write a Christmas themed fic. Hope you guys enjoy it! And Happy Holidays!

1938

Steve stepped hurriedly into the warmth of the apartment, shedding the outermost of the three coats he'd worn to art class earlier. Winter was setting in early in Brooklyn and in the bitter New York cold, one coat would never be enough for Steve Rogers. As he hung the second coat on the rack by the door, he noticed that Bucky's coat was there as well. He had been out when Steve left for class earlier, and it was unlike him not to greet Steve at the door the minute he walked in. Steve stepped further into the apartment and looked around, curious. He started to call out for Bucky but stopped short. He couldn't see Bucky, but he could hear him. Bucky was singing quietly to himself in the living room down the hall. 

Steve crept slowly toward the sound, a small smile spreading across his face. Bucky had a beautiful voice, but it was rare to hear him singing. Shy was never a word that Steve would use to describe Bucky, but when it came to singing, Bucky was inexplicably bashful. He would only sing when he was sure no one was around to hear him, when he was too drunk care, and on the rare occasion that Steve could coax him into it. 

As Steve neared the end of the hall, he could make out the familiar tune of "O Holy Night." He rolled his eyes affectionately, he should have known it would be a Christmas carol, it was December after all, and no one rushed Christmas quite like Bucky Barnes. Steve rounded the corner to a rather comical sight. 

Bucky was sitting in the floor with his back to the hallway, at the foot of a small, pitiful looking Christmas tree. He was wrapped in a long cord, screwing bulbs of red, white, and green into sockets, watching them light up, and singing his Christmas carol, still completely unaware that Steve had entered the room.

"Looks good, Buck," Steve said from behind him. 

Bucky jumped, his voice cracking indignantly on the high note of the song as he turned to face Steve. He blushed--something that only happened when Steve caught him singing--his cheeks going perfectly rosy, and tried to awkwardly untangle himself from the cord of lights draped around his neck. 

"Steve, I didn't hear you come in. Jesus, you scared the hell out of me."

Steve smiled and made his way into the living room, past Bucky and over to the tiny tree which stood only slightly taller than Steve. 

"Where'd you get the tree?"

Bucky climbed up off the floor and walked over to stand next to Steve, dragging his strand of lights behind him.

"Picked it up down at the lot earlier today. I did some work for the guy running the place and he gave me this one half off. It was supposed to be a surprise. I was gonna have the lights and everything on it by the time you got home but half the damn bulbs aren't working."

"It's kind of scrawny," Steve said, moving the branches around a little to cover a hole.

"Yeah, it ain't much, I guess, but like I said the guy gave it to me half off. Besides, I like scrawny things. Put up with you, don't I?" he said, nudging Steve gently in the ribs. 

Steve brushed him off and turned away, heading back toward the kitchen to find something to eat.

"You didn't have to buy that, Buck. You could have saved your money for something we actually need. Like food," he said as he scrounged around the cabinets to find something worth eating.

"I know I didn't have to, but I wanted to. It's our first year in the new apartment, you know, I want it to be memorable. Besides, it'll look nice once I've got all the lights on it. Who knows, might even get you in the spirit."

"Doubt it," Steve muttered under his breath. He had never been a big fan of Christmas, even as a child. His mother always seemed to have to work, volunteering for extra shifts at the hospital to earn the Holiday pay so she could afford their monthly rent and Steve's endless supply of medicine--which was generally what he received for Christmas in lieu of gifts. He normally ended up at the Barnes' on Christmas just so he wouldn't have to spend it by himself in a lonely apartment. Not that he minded spending the evening with Bucky's family, it was just, for Steve, Christmas had just never been the magical time of year it was promised to be. And this year he had even less of a cause to celebrate. His mother had passed away only six months ago, and this would be his first Christmas without her. Truth be told, he wasn't excited for the holidays at all, he was outright dreading them.

He would never say as much to Bucky, though. Bucky loved Christmas. Always had, ever since they were kids. He loved the tradition of it, the warmth it brought, the idea of magic. He bought into every lame tale of holiday miracles, hummed Christmas carols throughout the entire month of December, pointed out light displays as they walked down the street, and dreamed of days when he would be able to afford a suitable present for Steve. 

"One of these days, Stevie, I swear, I'll buy you a real set of paints for Christmas." he'd said one year. "I'll have enough money, I'll get you canvas and everything. You can finally put your pictures in color like they ought to be. They'll be beautiful."

Honestly, if it had been anyone else, Steve would have found their enthusiasm for the holidays annoying and unbearable. But with Bucky it came across as endearing and adorable. 

And Bucky was right about one thing, after all. This was their first Christmas in their new apartment. Their very own apartment. That was at least some cause to celebrate. 

"Get in here!" Bucky called from the living room. "Stop being such a Scrooge and help me decorate our tree!" 

Steve shook his head and walked back into the living room, suppressing a smile. He would help Bucky decorate the stupid tree, but he wouldn't be happy about it.

2014

Steve stepped into the apartment, shaking off the cold from the street. December had just settled in and already the weather seemed unnaturally cold, even to Steve. He slipped off his gloves and shoved them into the pockets of his jacket as he rounded the corner to the living room. Bucky was sitting exactly where Steve had left him, huddled up in the blue armchair by the window with a Harry Potter book open in his lap, apparently so invested in the story that he didn't even bother to look up when Steve entered the room. 

Steve watched him for a second, amused. Bucky had always loved fairy tales and stories about magic when they were younger, so it made perfect sense that he would love Harry Potter. Steve had tried reading the books a few months back, they had been recommended by nearly everyone in this new century so Steve had added them to his seemingly endless list of things to catch up on. He hadn't quite made it through the series, though, stopping halfway through the second book and settling for watching the movies instead. He had found them interesting enough. Bucky, on the other hand, had a new obsession. He had picked up the first book out of sheer boredom only a couple of nights ago and had hardly stopped reading since. Yesterday he had sent Steve out to the bookstore to pick up the fifth of the series and it looked as if he was halfway through the enormous book already. 

It warmed Steve's heart a little to see Bucky so invested in the books. Not because he was afraid Bucky would be missing anything without reading them, but because it was just such a Bucky thing to love. It made him think of all of the wild stories Bucky used to dream up when they were children. And Steve was never happier than when Bucky showed signs of his old self.

Bucky looked up from the book, finally acknowledging Steve's presence. He smiled at Steve, bashful.

"What are you looking at, Rogers?"

"I have a surprise," Steve said, excitedly, returning Bucky's smile.

"What is it?"

"Get your nose out of that book and come see."

Bucky closed the book, staring at Steve with a curious expression on his face as he got to his feet. Steve turned and headed back out of the apartment and into the hallway, Bucky close behind him.

"Wait, stay there!" Steve called back to him through the door. Bucky obliged, pausing by the door in his sock feet. Seconds later, Steve reentered the apartment, dragging a huge Christmas tree behind him. He kicked the door shut and stood the tree up, a huge 9 foot Frasier Fir. He held it upright with one hand, leaning on it and beaming at Bucky.

"A tree," Bucky said. He was smiling but he looked considerably less excited than Steve had hoped he would be.

"Yeah, Buck, a Christmas tree. Thought we could set it in the living room and decorate it."

Bucky looked the tree over then turned his eyes to Steve. He was still smiling but Steve could see that he was forcing it, for his sake.

"Yeah. Yeah, that'll be nice."

Still smiling, he dropped his eyes and padded back into the living room. Steve watched, trying his best not to feel disappointed, as Bucky climbed back into the armchair and picked up Harry Potter. He glanced up, saw that Steve was watching him, and shot him one more small smile before opening the book. 

Steve dragged the tree into the living room, feeling slightly hurt despite himself. Bucky had always loved Christmas before, had always gone out of his way to make sure that he and Steve had a special holiday each year. Even during the war, Bucky had somehow managed to make the Holidays seem festive. 

Since he had shown up at Steve's doorstep six months ago, Bucky had been slowly coming back to himself, remembering bits and pieces of his old life and slowly but surely putting himself back together. Steve tried to help in any way that he could. Sometimes that meant filling in gaps when Bucky's memories came back in fragments. Sometimes that meant holding Bucky after a violent nightmare left him screaming in the dark, and reminding him that he was safe. And sometimes Steve tried to help by attempting to jog Bucky's memory with things he used to love--songs, stories, movies. It seemed like a simple, useless idea at first. But, figuring he had nothing to lose, Steve had given it a shot and, much to his surprise, it had worked.

Once Steve had shown him photographs of Coney Island and Bucky had remembered he and Steve watching fireworks from the boardwalk when they were kids. When Steve showed him Wizard of Oz, Bucky recalled seeing it in theaters and flirting with the girl at the concession stand to get a free bag of popcorn for he and Steve to share. And listening to "You Are My Sunshine" brought Bucky a memory of singing the song loudly and drunkenly at a bar while Steve had looked on in amusement. Steve had hoped the Christmas Tree would work the same sort of magic on Bucky but apparently, that wasn't going to happen. Not today at least.

Steve propped the tree up in the corner of the living room and glanced over at Bucky who was already back at Hogwarts. He felt that familiar smile, the one reserved especially for Bucky, creep back onto his face. Bucky may not be singing Christmas carols or making eggnog at the present moment, but he was here and he was safe. And for now, that was enough.

1938

Steve woke to the sound of Bucky's voice, calling him softly. He blinked his eyes open slowly. Bucky shook him gently, calling his name again. Steve tried to sit up but couldn't quite find the strength. Everything was hot and unfocused, the world around him a confusing blur. He could scarcely make out Bucky's worried face hovering above him. He felt Bucky's cold hand reach out and touch his forehead gently. 

"Jesus, Stevie, you're burning up. Here, sit up straight. I've got some medicine."

Steve tried to do as Bucky asked but his strength failed him again.

"Hold on, Stevie, I've got you," he heard Bucky say from somewhere far away. And then Bucky's arm's were under him, strong and safe, and hauling him up. Bucky set him upright against the wall put a hand on his head affectionately before he pulled back, picking up a murky brown bottle sitting on the bedside table. He grabbed a spoon from the table and poured it full of a syrupy, red liquid from the bottle.

"This is probably gonna taste awful but the lady down at the dug store said it was the strongest shit they make. Guess we'll find out. Here," he said, holding the spoon out to Steve, "open up."

Steve opened his mouth slowly and Bucky stuck the spoonful of medicine in his mouth. Thick and viscous, the liquid threatened to choke him as it went down, leaving a terrible taste in his mouth as he swallowed it. He sputtered, but held it down. Bucky's proud smile shone through the cloudy world around him as poured Steve another spoonful of the medicine.

"Alright, Stevie, one more. Come on."

He held the medicine out to Steve and Steve swallowed it, this spoonful going down considerably easier than the first. Bucky smiled again as he set the medicine aside and reached out to rub Steve's head.

"There you go. Now get some rest and I'll have you better in no time."

Bucky's smile faded from view as the world slowly went black around him.

Everything was hot and dark and mad. Steve swam through the thick haze of the syrup and the fever, floating in a surreal state of mind somewhere in his sleep. 

Suddenly the world brightened, and he saw his old street, the one he'd lived on when he was child. His feet hit the ground and he ran down the block, passing familiar buildings and smiling at friendly faces. He stopped in front of his old apartment building and jerked the door open excitedly, racing through the lobby and hitting the stairs, taking them three at a time, never breaking stride, never losing his breath. He flew up flight after flight of stairs until he was standing in front of the door to his old apartment. Before he could get to the handle the door swung open wide and he came face to face with his mother, young and beautiful, the way she'd been before the sickness, before, even, the never ending shifts at the hospital had taken their toll. Her blonde hair was lively, her smile warmer than Steve remembered. She looked at him and her blue eyes sparkled with love and pride. She opened her arms to greet him, pulling him in for a hug and--

Steve woke up in a cold sweat. He sat straight up in the bed, coughing and gasping for air. He heard Bucky running through the hallway before he suddenly appeared in the doorway of the bedroom they shared. He was on Steve in a heartbeat, crashing onto the bed and throwing his hand to Steve's head immediately.

"Stevie, you're awake!" he cried, feeling his Steve's head and cheeks rapidly. "Are you okay? Are you better? You're wringing wet with sweat! You don't feel warm, though, did the fever break? Steve? Steve?"

Steve pulled away from him and looked around, confused. He was in his bedroom. His and Bucky's bedroom. There were Christmas lights strung all around the room, stockings hung by the window. Snow was falling lightly outside. It was mid-December. He was here and his mother--his mother--

He looked back to Bucky who was watching him with worried eyes. 

"Are you okay, Steve? You've been tossing and turning in here for almost three days. Do you need anyth--"

Steve burst into tears, rocking forward and hiding his face in his hands. He felt Bucky recoil, startled, and then felt his warm hand on his shoulder.

"What...what's wrong, Steve," he said, still shocked at Steve's sudden outburst.

Steve didn't answer him, just continued to cry. Bucky scooted closer and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in. Steve let him, he fell against his chest and hid his face in Bucky's shirt, still crying. He felt Bucky rest his chin on his head, rub circles in his back.

"My mom," Steve finally managed, chocking the words out into Bucky's shirt. "My mom, Buck. I dreamed about her."

Bucky said nothing, just hugged Steve a little tighter.

"I just miss her so much, Buck," he sobbed miserably.

"I know you do," Bucky said, and he held Steve tighter still.

 

2014

Steve woke to the sound of a violent crash from the living room. He leapt to his feet, immediately alert. When Steve had gone to bed, Bucky had still been in the living room, sitting in his blue armchair and finishing off the last of the Harry Potter books. Steve's mind raced as he grabbed his shield, running through every last terrible thing that could have happened to Bucky while he'd been sleeping. He threw open the bedroom door and sprinted down the hallway. He opened his mouth to call for Bucky but as he entered the living room, his breath caught in his throat, producing a shocked, strangled sound instead.

The living room was a wreck. The Christmas tree had been thrown from one corner of the room to the other and broken pieces of its scattered ornaments now littered the floor. The lights and garland that Steve had put around the window had been ripped down and strewn across the room. The coffee table was flipped upside down, all of the cheerful Christmas figurines and snow globes that had adorned it, smashed into tiny pieces on the floor. And Bucky--Bucky was sitting in the middle of the disaster with his back to the hallway, tangled in a wayward strand of Christmas lights with his head in his hands. 

Steve dropped his shield and hung his head. He walked cautiously through the living room, careful not to step on any shards of broken glass or ornaments. He cleared a space in the debris and sat down beside Bucky, looking at him sadly. Bucky was shaking, crying quietly into his hands and paid no mind to Steve. 

"Bucky."

No response.

"Bucky. Hey, Buck, come on, you're alright."

He reach around Bucky and tried in vain to free him from the stand of lights. The lights were coiled tightly around Bucky, their warm, inviting glow glancing off his metal arm in beautiful flares. Steve gave up and settled his arm around Bucky's shoulders, pulling him tight. Bucky recoiled from the touch, paused, and then suddenly collapsed into him. He hid his face in Steve's shirt, still sobbing quietly. Steve rubbed up and down his back and muttered comforting words to him, doing his best to calm him down.

"I'm sorry," Bucky muttered quietly into Steve's shirt, his voice thick with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated, over and over into Steve's chest.

"I know you are, Buck.," Steve whispered into the top of Bucky's head. "It's fine. It's okay, you're okay. I'm not mad. Promise."

He continued to stroke Bucky's back and whisper reassurances into his hair until he thought Bucky had fallen asleep, sprawled across his lap like a child. Steve sighed heavily, running his hands through the mess of Bucky's hair.

"I'm sorry," Bucky muttered once more, startling Steve.

"It's okay, Bucky. Honestly," Steve soothed, still running his hands through Bucky's hair absentmindedly. Bucky had always loved that before. "This stuff isn't important. I can clean the mess up in the morning and it'll be like it never happened. I'm just glad you weren't hurt."

"It was all just too much," Bucky said helplessly. "The Christmas stuff. It's so bright and happy. And it's supposed to mean something." His voice sounded thick, like he was crying again. "It's supposed to make you feel something. But I don't. I don't feel anything. And I want to."

"You should have said something, Buck, I would have taken it down. I'm sorry. This is as much my fault as it is yours. I kept putting this shit up hoping it would...I don't know, help you remember. You always loved Christmas and I just thought maybe this would help. I had no idea it was upsetting you," Steve said feeling hopeless and sick with guilt.

"I wish I remembered," Bucky said, sounding even more hopeless than Steve felt. Steve closed his eyes above Bucky, squeezing his hand in Bucky's hair, wishing with everything in him for the same thing. But he swallowed the words. He would never say that to Bucky, never make him feel like his presence alone wasn't enough. He exhaled a shaking breath and began stroking his fingers through Bucky's hair again.

"I like it when you do that," Bucky said quietly.

"I know you do."

1938

"Stevie, come look."

Steve sat up on the mattress as Bucky climbed in through the bedroom window from the fire escape.

"The whole block is covered in snow, it's beautiful," Bucky said sitting down on the bed next to Steve. "You gotta see it."

"I don't know, Buck, I'm just starting to feel better. I don't want to get sick again."

"Oh, you won't, Stevie, we'll just step outside for a few minutes, just long enough for you to take it all in. It looks so nice with the lights and everything. It's like a painting."

Steve bit his lip. He'd been sick for nearly a week before his fever had finally broke a few days ago and though he'd spent the last two days in bed recovering, he still didn't quite feel like himself. But Bucky would never push Steve to do something if he felt like it was a hazard to his health. In fact, more often than not, Bucky was over protective of Steve and his fragile immune system, insisting that he wear extra coats through the winter, take extra medicine when he was sick, forbidding him to step outside if he had even the slightest hint of a cold. And right now he was looking at Steve with childlike excitement in his eyes. Only Bucky would be this happy about a snow storm. 

"Okay," Steve said, smiling weakly at him, "Grab my shoes for me, would you?"

Bucky bounced happily off the bed and into the living room, returning quickly with Steve's shoes. Steve swung his feet off the bed, and slipped them into his ratty looking shoes. Bucky swept the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around Steve's shoulders, tucking it tightly around his body.

"There you go. Come on," Bucky said, helping Steve off the bed and over to the window. They clambered through the window and out on to the fire escape.

The cold hit Steve immediately and he shivered beneath the blanket. Bucky had cleared their little balcony of snow and he led Steve over to the edge so that Steve could look down on the street below. Bucky was right, it was beautiful. The street was still and quiet, not a soul to be seen, not a noise to be heard. A thick blanket of snow had fallen over the past few days and covered the entire block. It lay full and heavy in the roads, on the sidewalks, on porches, sparkling like diamonds under the dark night sky. The Christmas lights hanging from the many porches glimmered brightly above the snow, their warm colors shining in beautiful contrast to the stark white surrounding them.

"Isn't it great," Bucky whispered.

Steve was silent for a moment, taking in the serene sight.

"It is," he finally said. "It's beautiful."

"Told you," Bucky said, smiling triumphantly. "Aren't you glad I got your lazy ass out of bed?" 

They stood there in silence for a moment longer, enjoying the peaceful street. Bucky rubbed his hands together, huffing warm air onto them. He shivered in the cold beside Steve. 

"Here," Steve said, opening the blanket, "We can share."

Bucky looked at him, hesitant and then grabbed the blanket from Steve. He wrapped it around his broader shoulders and pulled Steve close to his side, swaddling them up in the blanket together. It was much warmer in the blanket with Bucky by his side and he melted into him where their bodies touched. He could feel Bucky's heart hammering inside his chest. Steve's breath caught in his throat. The air grew very still, and the peaceful silence of the street suddenly became awkward. He turned his head upward and Bucky was looking right at him, his eyes clouded and wanting. 

Here they were again. This thing between them, this unstoppable force that had drawn them together since they were children had them once more, trapped in a blanket on a cold fire escape on a snowy Brooklyn night. So close. They were always so close. Steve could still feel Bucky's heart hammering at his side and he knew his own was doing the same. 

"Better?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Bucky breathed. He smiled, looking slightly embarrassed. 

Steve held his breath, looking at Bucky looking at him. There was hopeless longing in his eyes. And deep fear. Steve waited to see which would win out. They stared at each other for another short moment and then Bucky leaned in slowly. Steve leaned in to meet him, his heart racing. Bucky stopped just short, his face hovering just in front of Steve's. Steve could feel Bucky's shaking breath, hot and heavy, over his own mouth. The sensation was maddening. They were so, so close. 

Bucky suddenly caught his breath. He looked into Steve's eyes for a moment longer, then looked down. He pulled back slowly, miserably, and turned his head back to the quiet street below them. Steve let out a weak breath and a shiver ran down his spine. Bucky jerked at the sensation.

 

"We should uh--"Bucky cleared his throat. "We should probably get you back inside. Been out here long enough. Don't want you getting sick on me again."

"Okay," Steve said weakly. He moved out from under the blanket and climbed back in through the window, leaving Bucky alone on the fire escape. After a moment, Bucky followed.

2014

"Come on, Buck, please.! It'll be fun, I swear."

"Steve, really, I don't feel like going. There are going to be so many people there and I just, I don't want to deal with that tonight."

"Well, you won't have to deal with them, I will. You don't have to say a word to anybody if you don't feel like it. I promise."

Bucky looked him up and down, contemplating for a second. He frowned and looked down at the floor.

"I'm sorry, Steve."

Steve sighed. This was not how this evening was supposed to go. A few days ago, Tony had invited them both to a Christmas party he was hosting at Avengers Tower and Steve had reluctantly agreed to attend. The idea of showing up to one of Tony's ridiculously over the top parties did not seem very appealing to Steve, but Tony had been a tremendous amount of help over the past few months, regularly monitoring and examining Bucky's arm, and even making the occasional repair. And so when Tony extended the invite to Steve, he couldn't find it in his heart to say no. 

When Steve had asked Bucky to accompany him, he had expected a resounding no, but to his surprise, Bucky had agreed to go, had seemed rather eager, even. Steve hadn't figured out exactly why Bucky, who was all but a shut in these days, had jumped at the opportunity to attend such a public event, but he thought it had something to do with the fact that Tony reminded Bucky a lot of Howard, and though Bucky would never admit to it, he actually enjoyed Tony's sense of humor.

And so, Steve had envisioned a fun night out for him and Bucky, a rare occasion in this new century. But now, tonight, at the last possible minute, Bucky was backing out. He understood. Bucky didn't trust people, didn't like to be around them, and absolutely hated any kind of noisy crowd. And after all he'd been through, Steve couldn't blame him. Even so, Steve couldn't help but feel disappointed. 

He stood in the hallway of the apartment, half dressed for the party in black slacks and a white undershirt, looking at Bucky who finally lost interest in the floor and looked back to Steve. 

"Okay," Steve said in his most sincere voice. "Okay, that's fine, Buck, I understand. But I'm going to go. I told Tony I would be there and I can't back out on him. I'll just...go by myself. It's fine, really. Won't be the first time. I just hate that you can't go. I was really excited for us to get out together, you know, but I get it."

"Steve," Bucky cut in, sounding slightly annoyed, yet slightly amused. "Steve, are you really doing this?"

"Doing what, Buck?" Steve said, fighting a smile and forcing himself to give Bucky his most disappointed face instead. "I was just saying how I was looking forward to spending the evening with you. But if you really can't go, I understand. Like I said, I'll just go by myself. Honestly, it's okay. I'm used to it."

"Oh my God," Bucky said rolling his eyes. "You are the worst, Steve. I might not remember much but I remember those damn puppy dog eyes."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Buck."

Bucky stepped forward and shoved past him gently, moving toward his room.

"Just shut up and get dressed. I'll go, Jesus. Just stop looking at me with that lousy expression on your face, you big loser."

Steve turned away from him, hiding a wide smile as he headed back into the bedroom to finish getting ready. It was an old trick, one that had always worked on Bucky before the fall. Back then, Steve had regularly used it to get his way with Bucky, who was familiar with the game but loved Steve too much to deny him regardless. Steve hadn't t really believed that it would work on Bucky now, and he actually felt a little guilty about doing it now that it had. But he would look after Bucky, take care of him at the party, and if Bucky showed any signs of discomfort or wanting to head home early, Steve would oblige him without a moment's hesitation. 

"Could you come in here and help me real quick," Bucky called him from the living room. 

Steve pulled his jacket on and straightened his tie in the mirror before heading down the hall. Bucky was standing in the middle of the living room, which was still slightly a wreck from his outburst last week. The glass had been cleaned up and Steve had stood the Christmas tree back up in the corner but it hadn't been lit since that night and the rest of the lights and garland that had adorned the living room were laying in a messy pile beneath it. Bucky looked up at Steve as he entered the room.

"I can't get this fucking tie," Bucky said, pulling at it, exasperated. "Goddamn hand's too clumsy."

Steve stepped up to him and grabbed the tie.

"Here," he said, quietly, taking it in his hands. "Let me." He began working the tie, Bucky watching his hands and then slowly turning his gaze upward to Steve's face. Steve tried hard to concentrate on the tie but he could feel Bucky staring at him. 

And here they were again. It had always been this way when they were younger. Longing stares, lingering touches, the air between them so heavy that it threatened to suffocate them both. Until eventually they had given in, crashing into each other so hard even death had not been able to separate them. And yet, here they were, longing and lingering once more, instead of kissing and holding. "I might not remember much but I remember those damn puppy dog eyes," Bucky had said. But did he remember why he found them so hard to look away from? If Bucky did remember anything about that part of their relationship, he hadn't said anything about it and Steve refused to push the matter on him. He had decided the day that Bucky returned that he would let Bucky sort that out for himself. If Bucky remembered and still wanted him, if he didn't remember and wanted him anyway, Steve would be ready and waiting. And if he didn't want him at all, Steve would not fault him for it, not after everything he'd been through. But the way Bucky was looking at him now was so familiar. It was wanting and denying, knowing but uncertain. All Steve would need to do would be to lean in just a little and touch his lips to Bucky's. Kiss him and remove all doubt, kiss him and clear his head, kiss him and--

"There you, go," Steve said, straightening Bucky's tie. He placed his hand on Bucky's chest, smoothed out his jacket, and looked up to meet his eyes. He was still staring at Steve with that familiar, longing look. "You look nice."

And he really did. His hair had been freshly cut only a few weeks ago, making him look infinitely younger and less haunted. His eyes were deep blue and clouded with thought, and he looked even better in a suit than Steve remembered.

"Thanks," he finally responded, his voice thick. "So...uh, so do you."

Steve smiled and they stared each other, so close. All he would need to do would be to lean in, just a little.

He looked down and stepped back. He wouldn't do that. He needed Bucky to make that step on his own.

"Yeah, thanks, thanks," he said, running his hand over his head, awkwardly. "We should probably get going, though. Don't want to be late." 

He side stepped Bucky and walked to toward the door. After a second Bucky followed.

1938

Bucky slammed the door as he entered the apartment. Steve could hear him grumbling to himself as he struggled with his coat and what sounded like a couple of bags.

"Swear to fuckin' god," he heard Bucky mutter angrily.

"Buck? You alright?" Steve called to him from the living room.

He heard Bucky's shuffling movements and hateful grumbling stop abruptly.

"Oh, yeah," he called back to Steve, "Just...cold outside, is all."

His voice had a weird tone to it that Steve couldn't quite name.

"You sure?" he yelled.

There was a moment's hesitation and then:

"Yeah, Stevie. Don't worry about it."

Steve heard Bucky traipse off to the bedroom, heard the door slam, and began to feel a little anxious. It wasn't exactly unlike Bucky to come home in a bad mood after a day at work, but he rarely showed outward signs of his frustration. And tonight was Christmas Eve. If anyone should be in a good mood, it should be Bucky, who had been so full of holiday spirit all season that it was nearly insufferable.

The door from the bedroom opened with a loud squeak and Steve heard Bucky stomp back down the hallway, breaking off at the kitchen. There was a rustling of bags coming from the room, piquing Steve's interest even further. He started to climb off of the couch to go see what Bucky was up to when Bucky suddenly stuck his head around the corner and peeked into the living room. 

"I've got a surprise for you," he said to Steve, a sly grin spreading across his face.

"What is it?" Steve asked, incredibly curious to see what had Bucky in such strange behavior.

"Come see," Bucky answered, still smiling at him, and then he disappeared around the corner and back into the kitchen.

Steve swung his feet on to the floor and followed Bucky to the kitchen. He walked into the small room to see Bucky smiling over a huge turkey sitting on the stove, waiting to be cooked. 

"Where did you get that?" Steve asked him, amazed. They barely had enough money to afford a can of soup, much less a giant Christmas turkey.

"I bought it. Down at the store. I've been putting back money all month for that son of a bitch," Bucky said, smiling at Steve proudly. "Figured since we didn't have one on Thanksgiving we should at least have one for Christmas."

"Bucky, you didn't have to do that! Spend all of your money on a damn bird."

"It's okay, Steve, I wanted to. Now we'll have a real Christmas dinner. And that's not all! Look what I got us to drink!" He pointed to a bottle of rum sitting on the counter opposite Steve. Steve hadn't even noticed it when he walked into the room, too distracted by the huge turkey sitting on the stove. "Picked that up down at the package store on my way home. I'm gonna use to make eggnog like your mom used to make. Remember how she would always take some out for us before she added the rum? But to hell with that, I'm gonna pour the whole damn bottle in there."

Steve touched the bottle and turned back to Bucky. He was smiling brightly at Steve, but it almost looked forced. Steve could tell by looking at him that something was bothering him. That he wasn't nearly as excited as he sounded. And he was wet, Steve noticed. The entire left side of his shirt was dark and damp. Steve reached out and touched it.

"Why are you wet, Buck?" 

Bucky moved Steve's hand away gently.

"Oh, I slipped and fell on my way home. Landed right in a big pile of snow. It's coming down out there again, Stevie, if you can believe that."

Steve looked at him suspiciously. Something was definitely off.

"Are you sure you okay, Bucky?"

Bucky's smile faltered. He looked down at his shoes and then back up at Steve, no longer hiding behind his false excitement.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, Steve. Honestly, don't worry about it. I'm just gonna go change out of these clothes, okay. Why don't you get started on that turkey, it's huge, it'll take all night to cook if we don't get it going."

He pulled away and Steve let him, turning his attention to the bird.

"Okay, Buck. Just making sure."

2014

Bucky picked up another glass of eggnog. Steve eyed him, slightly amused. This was his fifth glass since they'd arrived at the party and the eggnog was strong.

"Don't give me that look, Rogers, you dragged me down here. If I wanna get a little loaded I've got the right."

"Drink up," Steve said, smiling and clapping Bucky on the shoulder. He'd done great tonight and Steve couldn't help but feel proud of him. The party had gone so much smoother than Steve had imagined. When they'd arrived, the room had been full of people, all of them bustling excitedly around the tower which had been decked out in extravagant light displays and decorations from the ground floor up. A live pianist set at a grand piano, playing Christmas music softly as the guests reveled in the party's warm glow. Steve had sensed Bucky nervously tense up the minute they'd walked into the crowded room. But over the course of the evening, Bucky had slowly unwound--the eggnog probably had a little something to do with that--and actually seemed to be having a great time. Earlier, Natasha had shown up and stolen him away for a dance, Clint had found him by the desert table and they'd gotten into a good natured argument over who was the better marksman, and Tony and Pepper had presented him with a small present he had yet to open. Even the countless, random party goers that came up to them, confessing their admiration for Captain America had not seemed to phase Bucky. All in all, Steve thought it had been a pretty great night. And it made his heart warm to see Bucky out in the world and enjoying himself. He was currently staring at Steve with a too fond look, clearly feeling a little loose from the rum in the eggnog. He opened his mouth to say something when suddenly a clinging noise rang out in the room.

"Attention everyone, can I have your attention please," Tony called out to the room. He set the champagne glass he'd been dinging down on the table beside him and grabbed the microphone that was fastened on a stand by the grand piano. He turned back to the crowd. "I'd like you all to give a big round of applause to our live entertainment for the night," he said, gesturing to the man at the piano. "Mr. Guaralidi here has done a wonderful job at providing background music for my incredible party and I'd like to thank him for doing so." The room broke out into a polite applause. "At this time, he will be playing his last song, so feel free to exit when it's over or hang around if you want because at this point I am only a little wasted and the party doesn't stop until I pass out. Or until Pepper says so. Thank you all for coming, have a good night, and Merry Christmas." He fixed the microphone back on the stand, nodded to the piano player, and walked off to win over a scowling Pepper.

The pianist, Mr. Guaraldi, tapped out the first few notes of his final song, that Steve immediately recognized as "O Tannenbaum." He smiled. Bucky had always loved this one. Back before the war he'd had an old record with the song on it that he played frequently during the Christmas season. Steve looked over at him and Bucky looked back, flashing Steve a sloppy, slightly intoxicated grin.

And suddenly his expression changed. His mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide. He dropped his eggnog, the expensive glass shattering on the floor, and brought his hand to his mouth. The people around them stared, the piano player even faltered a few notes of the song at the sound of the breaking glass. But Bucky only looked at Steve, his eyes wide.

"Bucky, what's--"Steve reached out for him but Bucky pushed past him and ran off into the crowd. "Bucky! Bucky, wait! Where are you going?" He rushed through the crowd, pushing past the party goes and following Bucky as he raced through the room and out the door, on to the balcony.

Bucky came to a stop at the railing of the balcony, looking out on to the city from high above. Steve stopped a few feet short, his heart racing. He approached him slowly.

"Buck?" he called out cautiously.

But Bucky didn't respond, just stayed very still, looking out over the city. Steve came up beside him, giving Bucky space but coming close enough that if he needed to stop him from doing anything crazy, he could. Bucky still didn't look at him, he kept his eyes on the city.

"Bucky, are you okay?" He asked once more. He didn't expect an answer and after a moment of silence, he was sure he wouldn't get one, but then Bucky spoke up, his voice shaking.

"Yeah," he said quietly, distant, "I just needed some air."

"What happened in there?"

Bucky didn't answer him. Just kept his eyes on New York. Steve sighed and turned away from Bucky to look at the city as well. It was a beautiful sight, Christmas lights adorning every building as far as the eye could see. And a light snow was beginning to flurry through the air, the tiny white flakes drifting peacefully on the cold breeze. 

"Steve," Bucky finally said. Steve turned to find that Bucky was looking at him, looking right at him, right in his eyes. "Steve, why--why didn't--why didn't you--" he stopped suddenly, sighing in exasperation and running a hand over his face. Steve stepped closer, confused, worried. What could he possibly not have done for Bucky?

"What? What, Buck? Why didn't I what?" he asked quickly.

Bucky was looking off again, but not at the city this time, not at anything really, just staring past Steve and into the night. He sighed once more and turned his eyes back to Steve. 

"Nothing. Nothing," he said, and then to Steve's disbelief, he smiled. And it wasn't the smile Steve had gotten used to seeing since Bucky resurfaced at his doorstep six months ago, haunted and troubled even in happiness. It was a smile that Steve hadn't seen since 1945, carefree and sincere and beautiful. It made Steve's heart skip a beat, made him dizzy with love and nostalgia.

"Just. Thank you for guilt tripping me into coming to this stupid party," Bucky said, still smiling at him.

"Any--anytime," Steve mumbled. He was thoroughly confused at what had just happened, but was too thankful for that smile to question anything.

"Can we go home, now?" Bucky asked.

Steve stared a him, taking in the scene for a moment before it ended. Bucky, standing there on the balcony, the glow of the city beneath him, his dark hair flecked with tiny white snowflakes and whipping in the wind, still smiling that perfect smile.

"Of course," he finally said. "Of course, let's go."

1938 

Bucky stumbled through the hallway, dragging the mattress he and Steve shared behind him. Steve giggled as Bucky struggled to fit the mattress through the end of the hallway and into the living room. He finally succeeded, thumping the mattress down in the middle of the room, in front of the tree.

"Told ya I could get it in here, you big Scrooge," Bucky said grinning a sloppy, triumphant grin.

Steve burst out laughing as Bucky sank down on the mattress and rolled over to face him. They were both clearly feeling the effects of the rum Bucky had put in the eggnog. Each of them had drank at least three glasses, after that Steve had been too drunk to continue counting and Bucky had forsaken the eggnog and began drinking the leftover rum directly from the bottle.

It had been a good night. The turkey that Bucky brought home had come out of the oven perfectly, golden brown and delicious. Steve had carved it up and they'd eaten it with an old loaf of bread that was only a little stale. For two boys that were used to eating watery soup for dinner, the turkey was a rare luxury and they savored every bite of it. Then Bucky had mixed the eggnog, adding more rum than he'd needed to, ensuring that both of them would be plenty drunk by the end of the night. And it hadn't taken them long to get there. Steve was already lightheaded halfway through his first glass, and by the time he'd drained it, the world had gone soft and blurry. Bucky followed him not long after. Steve knew he was drunk when after his second glass of eggnog, Bucky put his Christmas record on and launched into a loud and spirited rendition of "O Little Town of Bethlehem." Steve had laughed as Bucky swayed around the living room, singing and stumbling until he nearly fell to the floor. Since then their entire evening had devolved into fits of laughter, half remembered stories from their childhood, and drunken ramblings that made little sense to either of them. Then Bucky had gotten the bright idea to bring their mattress to the living room so they could sleep under the tree like they had when they were younger. In his intoxicated state, Steve could vaguely recall those Christmases when he had stayed at Bucky's, the two of them curled up on couch pillows beneath the Barnes' family Christmas tree, drifting off to sleep while they waited for Santa. It sent a pang of nostalgia running through him alongside the rum. 

"So, Stevie, you think Old Saint Nick will be visiting our apartment tonight?" Bucky asked, bringing Steve out of his thoughts.

Steve looked at him, sprawled out on the mattress, bathed in the reddish glow of the Christmas tree, his hair a mess, his eyes shining and his smile sloppy, looking better than anyone had a right to. 

"Won't be bringing you anything, that's for sure," Steve said, "You've been too mean this year."

"Oh I'm too mean?" Bucky asked laughing, "This coming from the guy who ends up in a fight every other day!"

Steve laughed, "I guess we're both too mean."

"Ah too bad. Guess I won't be getting any presents, then," Bucky said throwing an arm heavily over his head.

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Steve said, shooting Bucky a grin. Bucky peeked out at him from under his arm, a smile spreading back across his face.

"Stevie did you buy me a Christmas present?" he asked amused.

"Not exactly," Steve said. He set his glass of eggnog on the floor and picked up his sketchbook. "I didn't really have any money since I didn't get too work much this month on account of being sick. But I did want to give you something. It's not much, but..." he flipped to the back of the sketchbook and ripped out the last page. He held it up, looked at it one more time, then offered it Bucky. "Merry Christmas."

Bucky sat up on the mattress, looking intrigued, and grabbed the sketch.

"Stevie..." was all he could manage to say. 

Steve had drawn the two of them from behind, huddled together in a blanket, sitting on their fire escape. Bucky's head was facing forward, looking out over the snow covered city, Steve's head turned upwards and to the right, looking at Bucky. He hadn't had any reference for what that moment had actually looked like, no picture or photograph. He'd drawn it the way he saw it in his memory. And judging by the look on Bucky's face, he'd done a rather impressive job.

"Steve, it's...it's wonderful. I love it," Bucky stammered. He was getting choked up and Steve could see tears welling in his eyes. His stomach dropped. He hadn't expected this sort of reaction. Bucky rarely cried in front of him and seeing it happen in this moment, over his picture, was surreal. He turned his wet eyes to Steve. "It's incredible, Stevie, I just wish that--oh, fuck" he said wiping his eyes. "Wait here," he said. And then he was gone, running back through the hallway and into the bedroom. Steve heard him rummaging around for something and seconds later he reappeared, sinking back down on to the mattress with something in his hands.

"What is that, Buck?" Steve asked.

"It's your present, Steve," Bucky said. And he held it out to Steve, who took it with trembling hands. It was another sketchbook, a nice, leather bound, too expensive sketchbook. But something was wrong with it. The cover was drawn up and shriveled, the pages damp and crumpled. "I ruined it," Bucky said miserably. 

Steve peeled his eyes from the sketchbook and back to Bucky was staring at him with tears in his eyes and a sorrowful expression on his face. 

"I worked all month to buy that for you," he choked out. "Every cent I had went toward that sketchbook and that fucking turkey. I had everything planned out. I picked up the turkey yesterday and had Mr. Jones next door keep it for me so I could surprise you with it today. And then today--" he stopped, rubbing his eyes and collecting himself. Steve gripped the sketchbook tightly, his heart breaking for Bucky who had gone to so much trouble for him. "Today," Bucky continued, slightly calmer, "I picked up the sketchbook. Went down to the art school and found the nicest one they had. And then, on the way home, I thought it, you know, I thought it would be nice to have something to drink. Thought I could get some rum and make eggnog like your mom used to. Thought you'd like that. But I didn't have enough money, I'd spent it all on the sketchbook. So I nicked the rum."

"Oh, Buck," Steve said quietly.

"I put it under my coat and headed out the door but the guy that owns the shop saw me. He ran after me so I took off down the street, hit an alley and hopped a fence. I got away. But when I landed on the other side of the fence I hit a patch of ice and I fell. And your sketchbook--your sketchbook landed right in a puddle. Every page of it soaking wet, completely ruined."

Steve sat in silence, holding the sketchbook in his hands and watching as Bucky wiped his eyes again. 

"It's okay, Buck. It's fine, really. I didn't need the sketchbook, I didn't need the turkey, or the eggnog. I would've been just fine with us having a normal, quiet evening in. You didn't have to do any of that stuff for me."

"I wanted to, though, Steve! I wanted to make this special for you because you deserve it! God, you have such a rough time, ya know? Always sick, always getting beat up and picked on. And you're still so good! And I don't know how because the world is constantly knocking you down and you just keep getting up and somehow, you're still a good fucking person! And then your mom went and died and Jesus, that alone is enough to fuck anybody up. So I wanted to do something good for you, Stevie, because you fucking deserve it. You're a fucking saint and you deserve to have a good fucking Christmas. And I couldn't even get you a decent gift without ruining it. I'm sorry, Stevie, I'm so sorry."

Bucky finished his story and sat back on the mattress, crying quietly. Steve looked at him in stunned silence for a moment. Bucky had gone to extreme lengths to give Steve something special, had spent every dime he earned on Steve, and despite the ruined sketchbook, had succeeded in giving Steve a wonderful evening. And here he was, drunk and pitiful and crying on a mattress in the middle of the living room. If anyone deserved a better Christmas, it was Bucky. 

Steve set the sketchbook aside and climbed down onto the mattress. The world seemed to spin, everything dropping into slow motion. Somewhere far away he could hear Bucky's record still playing. Nerves curled in the pit of his stomach with the alcohol. He knew what he was going to do. He couldn't give Bucky an extravagant gift, but he could give him something more. 

They were always so close, always had been. But there had always been that small but infinite gap between them that they both so desperately wanted to cross, but were both too afraid to do so. Steve would close that gap for them now. 

He put his hands on Bucky's shaking shoulders, brought one up to his face and lifted his head. Bucky's blurry eyes met Steve's.

"Bucky. I love you. I love you and I don't need a special Christmas or a new sketchbook or a bottle of rum to make me happy. All I've ever needed for that is you. I love you," he said once more. And then he leaned in and kissed him. After all this time, all of the hopeless longing and wasted opportunities, they were finally kissing.

And it was perfect. Bucky tasted of rum and his moth was thick and wet from where he'd been crying. But it was perfect. Bucky kissed him back, slowly at first, and then aggressively, sliding his tongue into Steve's mouth and wrapping his arms around Steve's tiny waist. He started to lay Steve gently down on the mattress and they got tangled in the Christmas tree. They broke apart laughing and gasping for air. Bucky wiped his eyes one last time and they fell on Steve. He smiled and leaned back in, but pausing, just as he always did, right in front of Steve's face. Once again, so very, very close. Only this time, there was no gap. 

"I love you too," he whispered over Steve's mouth. "Always have, always will." And then he kissed Steve passionately, putting his hand on the back of his head and pulling him down on the mattress beneath the Christmas tree. Steve rolled over on top of him and got lost in the moment, a moment that was over a decade in the making but was finally, finally happening. He pulled away, and took a deep breath. The lights from the tree burned bright over their heads, snow fell slowly outside the foggy window, and somewhere in the apartment, Bucky's record played a peaceful rendition of "O Tannenbaum."

"Merry Christmas," Steve thought. And then Bucky pulled him back down into another kiss and he could think of nothing else.

2014

Steve walked down the cold street, hunching his shoulders against the bitter wind blowing through the city. Flurries of snow whirled around him as he neared the door to his building. He shuffled the bags around on his arm and opened the door, pushing into the lobby. He sighed as he boarded the elevator and pressed the button for his floor. He'd been fighting last second Christmas crowds for the last two hours and was more than ready to be back in the apartment with Bucky who had been in much better spirits since the weird moment he'd had at Tony's party a few nights ago. It was, in fact, because of his lifted spirits, that Steve had spent the last two miserable hours of his life rummaging through picked over grocery stores in search of ingredients for a decent Christmas dinner. 

"We should have something, at least," Bucky had said as he'd rummaged through the cabinets. "I mean, I know I haven't exactly been Kris Kringle this year, but it's Christmas Eve, ya know. We shouldn't be eating left over Chinese. Again."

Delighted that Bucky had finally shown a slight interest in the Holiday season, Steve had been more than happy to head to town to get them a turkey to fix. That was until, he'd actually made it in to town and found the insane crowds pillaging the already depleted supplies of the local grocery stores. Steve had been forced to visit three different stores before being able to a find a decent turkey and all the fixings to go with it. Two hours of searching grocery stores, fighting impatient crowds, and walking through cold, windy streets, had left him in a less than merry mood. And after all the time it had taken, it was now after seven o' clock and dark outside, and it seemed unlikely that he and Bucky would even be able to fix their turkey in time to eat it tonight.

He exited the elevator, annoyed, and walked to his door, grabbing the keys from his pocket and pushing his way inside. The apartment was dark, but a strange glow was coming from the living room. Steve set the bags down by the door, suspicion and worry blooming in his stomach.

"Buck?" he called, walking in. "Bucky are you in here?"

There was no response. His nerves gripped him a little tighter.

"Bucky?" he called once more as he rounded the corner into the living room. What he saw stopped him dead.

The living room was decorated in full Christmas fashion. Garland and bows ran around the top of the room, a string of multicolored lights framed the window perfectly, and the Christmas tree that Steve had brought home was lit up, bright and beautiful, it's red, green, and white lights casting a pretty, warm glow around the room. And in the center of the living room, on the floor, pushed up under the tree, was the mattress from Bucky's bed. Captivated by the sight, Steve didn't notice Bucky sneak up beside him. 

Bucky slipped his arm around Steve's waist and pulled him close. Steve jumped, startled by Bucky's sudden presence, and then relaxed, melting into Bucky's side like he used to do when he was much, much smaller. He turned his head and his eyes met Bucky's.

"Merry Christmas," Bucky whispered, smiling that perfect smile. Steve opened his mouth to respond but never got the chance. Bucky leaned forward and kissed him. It was a messy, desperate kiss, heavy with relief and emotion and decades of lost time. But it was perfect.

Steve broke apart, breathing heavy and resting his forehead against Bucky's. God, it had been so long since he had been able to do that. He ran his hands over Bucky's shoulders, down his back, feeling him all over as if to make sure this was real and not some sort of dream. Bucky laughed lightly and his laughter fell softly over Steve's mouth.

"I remembered," he said with so much love and joy in his voice that it nearly broke Steve's heart. "I finally remembered."

1938

Steve woke slowly, blinking in confusion as a sharp pain hammered his head. He looked around, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. He could see through the window that it was still dark outside. And he was in the living room, the light from the tree casting a weird glow over the room. Why was he laying under the tree in the living room? He was struggling to remember when Bucky shifted beside him, sliding closer and wrapping his arm around Steve's waist. 

"You awake?" Bucky mumbled quietly.

It all came rushing back to Steve. The dinner, the eggnog, Bucky's ruined Christmas present, their kiss.

"Mmmhm," Steve responded.

"Did Santa come?"

"Nope."

"Well we did so that's okay," Bucky said. He pulled Steve tight against his body, leaning his head down and putting his face in Steve's hair. "My head is pounding and I feel like shit, but you know, aside from that, I really wouldn't mind waking up like this everyday. What about you?"

"I could go for that," Steve responded, smiling through the pain of his violent headache.

"Mmm. Me too. Let's try it," Bucky said into Steve's hair. 

"Okay," Steve said, still smiling to himself in the dark. He couldn't stop and he realized that it was because he had never been so happy. Lying there on their shitty old mattress, in the light of their tacky little Christmas tree with Bucky's arms around him, and a hangover straight from Hell, Steve Rogers realized he was living the happiest moment of his life.

"Bucky," he said quietly to the dark.

"Yeah, Stevie?" Bucky asked, his voice distant, already halfway back to sleep.

"Merry Christmas."

He felt Bucky smile into his hair.

"Merry Christmas, Stevie."

2014

Steve held Bucky close, the two of them lying curled together on the mattress, bathed in the light of the tree just as they had done once before, long ago in another life.

"It was the song," Bucky said quietly into Steve's neck. "And the eggnog, that was part of it too. But when the man started playing the song, that's what really brought it all back.. That's when I remembered."

"O Christmas Tree?" Steve laughed lightly.

"Mmhmm," Bucky said, purring against Steve's neck. Steve shivered a little at the sensation and he felt Bucky smile. "It was playing the first time we kissed, that night in the apartment. I was drunk as hell, crying like damn baby. And the only way you could figure out to shut me up was to kiss me."

"Worked didn't it?" Steve asked happily.

"Mmm. Like a charm," Bucky said. He rose up on his elbow and leaned over Steve, kissing him again, lightly this time. He smiled against Steve's mouth as he pulled away. "There's something I want to ask you, though," Bucky said, suddenly serious.

Steve sat up and looked at him, confused.

"Anything."

"Why didn't you just tell me about this?" Bucky asked. "I mean, Steve, I really thought I was going crazy. I was having these feelings for you before I could even remember your name. Before I could even remember what these feelings mean. And once I came back I kept having dreams, and these little...flashes of moments. From before. But I never knew if they were real. I kept thinking that they couldn't be. Because if we had been more than just friends, you know, I figured you would tell me about it. I was so scared. I thought I might have came back wrong."

Steve felt sick guilt grip his stomach. 

"God, Buck, I'm so sorry. I didn't know what to do, you know? I mean I wanted to tell you but...I don't know, I wanted you to remember it on your own. I didn't want you to think that I would ever try to...take advantage of you or anything. And you'd just been through so much, I wasn't sure if you would be ready for something like that. I thought it would be better if I waited for you. Waited for you to remember, to come to terms with it yourself. And then when you were ready, if you still wanted this, I would be here."

"And what if I had never remembered?"

"I would have loved you just the same. Just, without all of this," Steve said, gesturing to him and Bucky on the mattress. "And that still would have been enough for me, "

Bucky's face was illuminated in the red-green glow of the Christmas tree, and on it Steve could see a look of pure love and admiration. 

"You're too goddamn good for your own good, Rogers," he said, his voice thick. He leaned in and kissed Steve, and Steve pulled him tight, laying them both back down beneath the tree. They broke apart and Bucky snuggled close to Steve's side, burying his face in the crook of his neck. They lay like that in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of one another breathing, of their hearts beating, and Steve found himself smiling uncontrollably into the dark once again, just as he had done in their tiny Brooklyn apartment all those years ago.

They were finally, finally together again. After all of this time, after everything they'd gone through, after everything they'd been forced to endure, they had found each other once more, just as they always had. Just as they always would. Steve buried his smile in Bucky's hair.

"Bucky?" he said softly, into the top of his head.

"Yeah?"

"Merry Christmas."

He felt Bucky smile against his neck.

"Merry Christmas, Stevie."


End file.
